Seven Ways to Die (8 page)

“It’s tangent. Go off on a tangent.”

“Come on, Captain, I know the difference between a tangent and a tantrum. These were tantrums. He was really upset. It was a strange thing. Like…it was like he was talking in his sleep.”

He stopped and they took a breather.

“Want another cup?” she asked.

“I’m fine, thanks. So these were kind of like ramblings, getting something off his chest?”

“Exactly. When I was through he’d smile and pay me and go back over to his place.”

“Anything else you can remember?”

She shrugged. “He was a nice guy. He was polite. He said ‘Thank you.’”

“And you never asked him about any of these things?”

“He wasn’t a Chatty Cathy. I’ve got some clients who like to chat. Talk about movies, casual talk. There was nothing casual about Raymond. His monologue was part of his working out emotional kinks. He was there to get the knots ironed out, period.”

“I’ve got to ask you this. Where were you last night?”

“Here. I was reading. Sitting over there.” She pointed to a chair near the door.

He could see her sitting there, and the thought oddly pleased him. “Did you hear him come in?”

She shook her head.

“Would you have heard him? If he had come in?”

“Probably. We just heard your people.”

“What time did you go to bed?”

“I finished reading about quarter to eleven. Went back, turned on the TV. Watched the top of the news and then put in the plugs. I was asleep by, I don’t know, eleven-fifteen maybe.”

“What kind of slippers do you have?”

“Slippers?”

“You know, for your feet?”

She smiled, a big smile for the first time since he had entered the apartment.

“Big fuzzy ones with little balls of stuff on the top. You want to see them?” She gave him an elfish grin.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“I didn’t kill Raymond, Captain,” she said almost sternly.

“Okay,” he answered.

“I mean, I hardly knew him personally,” she said, still staring straight into his eyes.

Cody smiled. “You probably knew a lot more about him that a lot of his friends.”

Amelie didn’t disagree with that. She blurted out the rest of what she knew until Cody finally stood up to leave. “Thanks for the coffee,” he said. “It was good.”

“Where’s your tape recorder?” she asked.

He tapped the fountain pen in his breast pocket. “This is the mike. The recorder’s in my pocket.”

“Isn’t that cute,” she answered, following him to the door. He took out his card and handed it to her.

“My name and number is on that. You can call anytime, I’m always available. If you think of anything else.”

She flipped the card with a finger, smiled and took her card out and slipped it in the breast pocket of his jacket.

“May I ask a question?”

“I suppose so.”

“What’s with the ponytail?”

He stared at her for a moment and said, “My barber cut my ear with his scissors so I never went back.”

She shook her head and giggled. “Little wonders. A cop with a ponytail and a sense of humor. I bet you’d eat nails for breakfast if you had to.”

“It’s never come up.”

She stared at his neck and shoulders and then back into his eyes.

“You’re tight as a fist, Captain Cody. You could use a good loosening up. Give me a call. I’ll work you in. On the house. Civic duty and all that.”

“Thanks. Goodbye, Amelie.”

“So long for now. If I don’t hear from you I may just make up something and call you.”

“That’s against the law.”

“Then you can come over and give me a ticket.”

7

Cal Bergman was still intent on the black book he had found in Handley’s briefcase. He was seated sideways on the sofa in the hallway with the case opened beside him, a forefinger sliding down a page in the book as he dictated information into his headset.

It was not a little book. It was custom-made black leather, six inches wide by eight inches long, with a twenty-four-carat gold lock flap. It was indexed with colored dividers and was about four inches thick. He snapped around, startled, as Cody left Amelie Cluett’s apartment.

Cody laughed. “A little jumpy, aren’t you there, cowboy?”

Cal laughed along with him.

“Nothing wrong with having fast reflexes, Cal,” Cody said approaching the sofa. “And one of the reasons we picked you for liaison was your ability to focus. You were as focused on that page as a pitcher zoning on a catcher’s glove.”

“There’s a lot to zone on.”

“No laptop? Blackberry? Cell phone?”

“Nope. There are slots for them, though. But the book is amazing. This is an autobiography of Handley’s life in shorthand. Other than this…” He held up a baggie into which he had placed several receipts, “the cupboard is bare. Some personal photographs and other stuff but the book and the receipts are a gold mine.”

“Bag the book and the receipts and close the case.”

“Right. There is one other thing.” He held up a baggie with a black Halloween mask in it. “This was in the briefcase.”

“I’ll be damned,” Cody said. “Bring it along.”

Cody heard a vacuum cleaner at work in Handley’s apartment. He opened the door and leaned into the apartment.

“Wolf?”

The pathologist stuck his head around the corner of the library. He was suited out and had a surgical mask covering his nose and mouth.

“You and the kid made a pretty clean entry,” Wolfsheim said. Then added, “You may have missed a thing or two.”

“Such as?”

“I’m busy,” was his muffled reply. “We’ll get to that later. What do you want? We got work to do.”

Cody took the briefcase from Bergman and sat it on the floor inside the apartment.

“You’ll probably want to check this out. And you might be looking for a laptop, and a Blackberry. They weren’t in the case. We’re taking these.” Cody held up the bagged book, receipts, and the mask.”

“Just make sure they’re dusted before you go messing around with them.”

Cody chuckled and snapped his fingers. “Gee whiz,” he said. “I never would’ve thought of that.”

“Don’t be a smart ass.”

Wolf walked back into the library. As he did, he said over his shoulder. “We need to get that maid back here.”

“Frank took her home,” Cody said to the empty library entrance. “My guess is she’s probably napping by now. She was hot-wired.”

“Well, if she was as meticulous as I hear, we need her back here.”

“Looking for a trophy?”

“Didn’t you?”

“Yup.”

“Get her highness back as soon as we clean this mess up. This wasn’t a robbery. I want to know if anything strange is missing or was left behind.”

“Well, while you’re sweeping the apartment you might keep an eye out for a safe.”

“No kidding,” Wolf replied.

“Any ideas about the blood?”

“Yeah. I don’t think whoever whacked this guy was planning on selling it to the Red Cross.”

“Let’s get back to the loft,” Cody said to Bergman, closing the door. “Or the chateau as he calls it.”

“Wolf’s a little grumpy today.”

“Are you kidding? He was born grumpy,” Cody answered. “He growled at the nurse when she cut his umbilical cord.”

As they started down the stairs, Bergman said, “Ms. Cluett’s still peeping at us.”

“Yup.”

“All she had to do was walk across the hall, if she had a key.”

“Yup.”

“Would you consider her a suspect?”

“Why not? So’s the maid at this point,”

“Just asking.”

“Until somebody makes a proper I.D., we can’t discuss the case with, or give up the victim’s name to, anyone but the crew. From what I gathered all Cluett understands is, Handley’s dead. No details. Right now, the maid knows more about the scene of the crime than anybody but us—and the killer.”

They peeled off their gloves, left the house and put their satchels in the back seat of Cal’s cruiser.

“Let’s get a few blocks down Lex before we put the red light on,” Cody said, taking out his cell. “Then we’ll have some fun wiggling through morning traffic.”

Bergman smiled. “My favorite thing,” he said.

Cody dialed Rizzo.

“Here I am,” came Rizzo’s answer. “Wilma’s got her friend from next door sitting with her. She took a sleeping pill and was dead to the world when I left.”

“She and her friend understand to keep mum.”

“Of course. I’m approaching the garage as we speak.”

“Do me a favor. Call Rick McKeown. Tell him we have a hot one. We need him to send two men to the address. One downstairs inside the front door. Tell him not to tape the outside of the apartment. We don’t want to advertise what’s going on. The other man will stand outside the apartment door. They don’t need to know anything except that nobody goes in or out until Wolf finishes. He’ll tape the crime scene only when I give the word, and the upstairs man stays until we release him.”

“Gotcha. We need a couple of Rick’s boys to canvass the neighborhood?”

Cody thought about that for a moment.

“Not yet, let’s keep it in the family until we brief the crew. Also the woman across the hall is Amelie Cluett. She’ll be going to work and that’s okay. I’ve already debriefed her.”

“Usual procedure?”

“Yup. We’re on our way back. Ring the church bell and tell everyone mass will begin when we get there.”

“Uh huh.”

“And see there’s plenty of doughnuts and coffee—good coffee, not that Starbucks shit—for all the parishioners.”

“Done.”

He hung up and turned to Bergman, eyeing the evidence bags.

“Okay, tell me about the stuff you’ve got there.”

“There are more names in the book than there are in
War and Peace.
Phone numbers, addresses, coded references, indexed and divided by friends, acquaintances, business associates, adversaries, favorite restaurants and hotels all over the world, you name it. Not a word about family. But, I mean, some of these names are kids he knew in grammar school.”

“Brothels?” Cody asked.

“Probably. I haven’t gotten that far into it yet. Why do you ask?”

“Our Mister Handley had a sex jones just as compulsive as his need for order.”

“That what Ms. Cluett told you?”

“Among other things.”

Bergman grinned. “Sounds like an interesting interrogation.”

“Yup.”

Cody thought for a moment, then added, “She’ll be calling back.”

“You think so?”

“She was very stressed. When she calms down she’ll remember other things. Some of them will be important. A lot of them will be just wind.”

Bergman whipped through the clogged streets, concentrating on traffic. Then he returned to the subject at hand. “The back half of the book is an hour-by-hour list of all his business appointments for the last month with tabbed reminders,” Bergman said. “And then there are the receipts.”

Cody held up the baggie containing the receipts and looked at them. “Thorough, neat, orderly.”

“Those are receipts for everything he spent for the last week, including his plane tickets to and from Cincinnati yesterday, where he had breakfast, lunch and dinner. And taxis—he didn’t hire a limo there.”

“How about the limo that picked him up when he got back.”

“No. Nor the taxi he took home from wherever he went after the limo dropped him off. Those cards are missing from the deck.”

Δ

Bergman was the newest member of the TAZ crew, or at least half-member. He still had one foot in regular NYPD, and served as the group’s liaison with the
hoi polloi
of the force
.
He had an astronomical I.Q., had graduated from high school at sixteen and was top man in his class when he graduated, at twenty, from Harvard.

Halfway through his second year he quickly focused on two subjects that challenged and excited him: forensic pathology and criminology.

One afternoon, almost whimsically, he quit pre-med. His parents, enraged and embittered by what they considered their son’s defiance and betrayal, demanded he come to his senses.

When he refused, his father disowned him.

To Cal Bergman, experiencing the sudden rush of freedom from their stifling influence was like an aphrodisiac. He sold his car and headed for New York where he applied for and was accepted at the NYPD police academy.

He neither expected nor got any favors. He graduated top of the class and started his career as a patrolman. Bright, dependable, intuitive, eager, unassuming, professional, all defined his slow climb up the ladder where he made detective after eleven years. His sergeant was Frank Rizzo.

It took four years of careful screening and special training during which Cody and Rizzo developed the men and women whose unique qualities defined the TAZ before Rizzo brought his name up. They had been searching a month or two for one more cop to round out the crew.

“There’s this kid in the Fifth…” Rizzo began one day then stopped as he ran Bergman’s qualifications through his head.

“Yeah?” Cody said.

“Tall, good-looking guy. A real chick magnet.” Rizzo paused, staring into space as he thought some more about Bergman. He nodded. “Yeah, he was really good.”

“He couldn’t be that good if it took you four years to remember him.”

“Well, he was a quiet guy. Not pushy, you know. Not a glory hound. A very professional guy. Knew a lot about forensics. Very tough but not so’s you’d notice it. I got thinking about him last night.”

“Does this guy have a name?”

“Yeah,” Rizzo said. “Uh…Bergman. Maybe we should pull his record and see what he’s been up to.”

 So they pulled his record. They interviewed him. And he had what Cody called “the wisdom for the job.” Only one problem: he didn’t want to lose his place at the Fifth Precinct. He was “emotionally attached” to the crew there. Go figure. But somehow Cody liked the sound of even that. It might even be a good idea to have a NYPD regular on the team, as practical—and public relations—liaison to keep the regulars’ noses from going out of joint. So Cal fit perfectly, like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle. Calvin Bergman became the last jewel in the crown.